Then Guang’s dream would assume the garish intensity of nightmare – Bayke’s men sacking Apricot Corner Court, dragging out Cao and Shih, dispatching Lord Yun after he had abased himself shamelessly; and, finally, as one saves the tastiest morsel for last, Lu Ying. Those had been the shadows of fear. Now he faced a man of bone and sinew quite prepared to make them real.
‘General A-ku is wise,’ continued Bayke. ‘But I appeal to the yasa. This man has robbed me. Everyone knows how my son was taken from me.’
Many of the officers murmured their agreement, yet more were silent, showing neither approval nor disapproval. Among this last group was General A-ku. He glanced over at Guang then addressed his followers: ‘The yasa states that the injured party must lead the captured one to justice at once or there can be no punishment. Bayke’s son was taken from him years ago.’
The interpreter’s voice grew excited as he translated Bayke’s reply for the benefit of Wang Ting-bo and the accused.
‘But it was no fair fight between warriors, Wise General! He killed my son while he was naked and sporting with his whore.’
Now A-ku’s cold eyes fixed on Guang.
‘Is this true?’
‘I interrupted his pleasure, Great General,’ he said. ‘Then he went for me. I had no choice but to kill him.’ Another recollection of those terrible moments outside his ancestors’ tomb came to him. ‘General, two armed servants of Khan Bayke immediately attacked me after Bayke’s son was dead.
One I killed, but the other I blinded and allowed to live. Had I been intent on murdering all that belonged to Bayke, surely I would have killed the blind one, too?’
His argument provoked further muttering amongst the officers. It was the kind of nicety the more learned among them enjoyed. Khan Bayke flushed.
‘How these swamp people can talk!’ he declared, contemptuously. ‘If they could fight half as well, their Empire would be secure! But Great A-ku, I have more to say. Has not the Great Khan himself decreed that the Chinese are to be ranked as the very lowest of creatures known as men? Why then is the law used to protect this one?’
Those Mongol officers sympathetic to Bayke banged the table, cracking delicate porcelain bowls. Even A-ku hesitated, examining Guang’s face for marks of guilt.
Then all heads turned as a calm, refined voice addressed the interpreter: Wang Bai again, his expression thoughtful.
‘Commander Yun Guang is a difficult case!’ he declared.
‘The people in the city call him Captain Xiao on account of his filial piety. His orders led to the death of hundreds of the Great Khan’s servants.’ Wang Bai gestured expressively. ‘All in honest battle.’
Now he had the full attention of the room; Bayke seemed about to shout him down until A-ku glared for silence.
‘Every father of the thousands he caused to die are just like Khan Bayke,’ continued Wang Bai. ‘They, too, want revenge!’
Guang listened as the interpreter relayed this speech. All that mattered to him was that A-ku kept his promise and spared Apricot Corner Court. The Mongol general, however, was regarding Wang Bai with genuine respect, not because of his arguments, but because he had the courage to state them.
‘Your point?’ he asked. ‘Be brief.’
‘My point, Mighty General,’ said Wang Bai, ‘is this. If Yun Guang is to be judged a murderer, let him be killed. But the effect on every Chinese who hears about his fate will be immeasurable. They will see only that Captain Xiao was promised his life if he surrendered – then he was executed.
After that, who will dare to surrender to the Great Khan? One might as well die fighting.’
A-ku sat back in his chair. He waved for more wine and drank it slowly. No one spoke. At last his bowl was drained and he set it on the lacquered table with a light rap. His eyes sought out Khan Bayke.
‘I understand your desire for vengeance, that you cannot feel complete without it, but these are new times, complicated times. This is my final judgement concerning Yun Guang, who has already taken up too much of my attention. All his former crimes are to be forgotten, as are those of the other soldiers who fought gallantly against us and surrendered willingly today.’
One by one the assembled commanders saw the prudence of such clemency and grunted their approval. How else could the Great Khan conquer this vast land, teeming with people and cities?
Guang’s expression showed no trace of triumph; he had been spared death to endure a lifetime of dishonour and defeat.
Meanwhile Wang Bai gestured impatiently that he should withdraw and the feast resumed, the Mongols talking loudly among themselves. Bayke and two of his sons left soon after A-ku’s judgement, their boots echoing on the wooden floor.
Scents of roasting meat filled the air as laden platters were carried in by a procession of servants. Where Wang Ting-bo had found such delicacies, Guang could not imagine. The aroma made his mouth water and, having been spared death, his appetite returned.
One of the Mongol officers rose and ceremoniously invited him to join his companions. It was hard to refuse without causing offence, so he shared the meat put before them and drank the wine. No one at the table spoke Chinese. Wine brought the illusion of good cheer and fellowship as the Mongol officers emptied bowl after bowl.
An hour passed in this way. Although Guang longed to return to Apricot Corner Court and tell Lu Ying of their deliverance he was too ashamed. So he drank and joked, mis-pronouncing the Mongol word for wine to the great amusement of his new companions.
By now Chen Song would be looking back at the distant ramparts of Nancheng from beyond the siege lines, his honour intact. Waves of exhaustion and disgrace swept Guang’s soul.
How could he face Shih or Cao or Lu Ying with any semblance of pride? General A-ku was right, Commander Yun Guang had passed away, Captain Xiao had passed away, leaving a wretch who grinned and shared wine with those who put the people of Fouzhou to death – man, woman, child, regardless of age or innocence. It was a long, long feast for Guang.
*
Twilight was approaching when Guang finally entered Water Basin Ward, escorted through the curfew by a detachment of Mongols led by the drunken officer who had befriended him.
He could not return to his old pavilion on Peacock Hill because it had already been seized by one of A-ku’s commanders.
Before he left the banqueting hall, Wang Bai had sent for him and whispered that he would receive a worthy commission as soon as the Mongols advanced east. In the meantime, he should keep out of sight in Apricot Corner Court. Wang Bai waved impatiently when Guang tried to thank him for speaking on his behalf. ‘Be cautious,’ he said. ‘For the sake of your family, if no one else. All we need do is keep them pacified until they leave.’
Guang parted with his escort some way from Apricot Corner Court. He did not want them to know where his family lived, though that was no secret in the city.
Glancing round, he patted his horse, amazed he had been allowed to keep it when they stripped his armour and weapons.
There had been few signs of looting on the ride to Water Basin Ward and none of massacre apart from the self-inflicted kind.
An eerie silence shrouded the city. He passed shuttered windows, aware their occupants were cowering inside, speaking only through whispers in case they attracted the attention of Mongol patrols fanning out across Nancheng.
Guang sensed Lu Ying was waiting for him, also afraid.
What he might say to justify his defection was unclear. Perhaps it would be enough for her, for everyone, that Wang Ting-bo had led the capitulation. Perhaps he would suffer no loss of honour after all. Were they not merely reacting to circumstances, as a bird swoops to avoid a tree or mountain? He had done everything to preserve his family, even at the cost of his future peace. But Guang suspected the sacrifice would not be enough, would never be enough.
He was so absorbed in these thoughts that the clip-clop of hooves behind him remained unnoticed until quite close. Then Guang glanced back and comprehended the depth
of his folly.
For although General A-ku could not be seen to condone Captain Xiao’s execution in public, he could let him perish in the streets without witnesses.
Khan Bayke was trotting towards him with three companions. Two were clearly his sons, the third an armed retainer.
Guang swung his leg over the saddle of his horse, intending to gallop away from his enemies. Every movement seemed agonisingly slow. His feet were in the stirrups, raised to spur the horse forwards. Simultaneously the horse dipped and quivered in shock. Two arrows had pierced it: one near the buttocks, the other in its neck. Guang saw the earth rush towards him as he was thrown and somehow found his footing, so that he stumbled away from the screaming animal. This saved his life.
When he glanced up, Khan Bayke and his sons were cantering forward with fixed expressions, putting their bows away and drawing curved swords. The fact that they loosed no more arrows told Guang what to expect – they wished to take him alive for a little fun.
He fled down the nearest alleyway. Hoof-thuds drove him on, hunting whoops usually reserved for deer. Guang realised that the twisting alley was taking him towards the Water Basin.
Two and three storey tenements rose on either side, their doors giving onto the street. Although he did not know it, he was approaching the warren of Xue Alley.
Suddenly a canal blocked his route; the only way across was a worn rope footbridge and Guang gasped with relief for Bayke could take the horses no further. He scurried over the bridge just as his pursuers arrived at the other side. An arrow flew past his ear, then he turned a twisting corner, another shaft quivering in a lintel behind him.
Guang found himself descending a slope towards a parallel canal full of small boats of the kind used to carry passengers through the water-roads of the city.
He paused, assessing his position. He was in Xue Alley without a single weapon, pursued by four men armed from boot to plumed helmet. Yet he was sure Bayke would leave one to mind the horses. That left three warriors.
He had been taught at the Western Military Academy that the ground where simple survival calls for a perilous fight, where we perish without a desperate fight, is Dying Ground.
When he reached the canal, Guang realised he had entered Dying Ground. Bayke would not expect him to turn here. And indeed, where did he have to turn? Certainly he could never lead his enemies back to Apricot Corner Court.
So Yun Guang paused at the bank of the canal and looked round. He noted the boats and remembered the adage: ‘Water assists an attack mightily.’ Then he seized a long bamboo pole used for propelling boats and awaited his enemies. As he stood there, striving to regulate his breaths, several curtains in the densely packed houses around him stirred. Faces peered out, whispering to those within.
Soon enough Khan Bayke and his two sons turned the corner at a jog, their swords drawn; Guang noticed at once they had left their bows with the horses, and for the first time he felt a flicker of hope. They halted at the sight of Yun Guang, bamboo staff in both hands as though it was a noble halberd instead of a peasant’s excuse for a weapon.
Khan Bayke laughed and said something to his sons, who obediently stepped forward.
Guang levelled the bamboo like a spear poised between the two young warriors. He was deliberately near the bank of the canal, several flat-bottomed boats directly beneath him.
Then he stepped back, even closer to the edge.
Bayke’s sons glanced at each other and advanced, confident of overwhelming so lightly armed an opponent. Guang’s own expression was taunting. Yet he stepped back again, so that he teetered on the canal bank. Conscious of their father’s approval, they rushed forward, each eager to claim the honour of avenging their brother. Swords swung and passed through empty air for Guang had jumped down into the flat-bottomed boat floating on the canal.
Now Bayke’s sons leaned over the water, swords in hand.
Guang, however, thrust up his bamboo pole so that it snagged on one of the Mongol’s chest armour and, with one swift movement, toppled him. For a moment the young man flailed in mid-air. Then he fell with a bellow into the canal. He had every reason to cry out. A man in full armour could not hope to swim long. Most Mongols, accustomed to the dry steppe-lands, could not swim at all.
Guang ignored the splashing figure as his brother swung a savage sword blow at his head. Bamboo parried metal. One bounced off the other. Yet the bamboo was splintered, its force broken. Guang knew the next blow would surely finish him.
He jumped into an adjoining moored boat, then another, and climbed onto the opposite side of the canal.
A narrow footbridge lay between him and his enemies. The Mongol in the water was only being saved from drowning by his brother, who had found another long pole. It was clear neither could swim.
Guang waited on the opposite bank while Bayke examined him, no doubt wishing he had brought his bow. The footbridge was his sole route of access to the man he had sworn to kill, the murderer of his eldest boy. For a moment Bayke watched one son drag the other out of the canal. Baring his teeth in a grin, he walked with complete confidence across the footbridge, aware a sword against a splintered bamboo pole usually yields one victor.
Then something unanticipated occurred. Doorways in Xue Alley flew open and a dozen men led by Carpenter Xue charged out, rushing over to the Mongol brothers. They were in no position to defend themselves, for their swords had been set aside while escaping the water. A moment later both had been seized and were once again floundering in the canal. This time they were lucky, managing to cling to the side of a boat out of reach of their attackers. One of Carpenter Xue’s brood reached down and picked up an abandoned sword.
Bayke paused on the footbridge. Believing his sons were in no immediate danger, or perhaps maddened into indifference by his desire for revenge, he charged at Guang with a terrible cry, sword raised.
Against such an attack Guang could only give way, raising the bamboo staff to deflect Bayke’s blow. It splintered into two pieces. Aware he was hopelessly out matched, Guang lunged to the side as Bayke launched another fierce downward slash.
Then he heard a cry: ‘Captain Xiao! Take this!’
Guang dodged to avoid a stroke and glimpsed a curved shape land at his feet. He snatched up the sword just in time to parry a blow aimed at his head, then another. Despite the fury of his resistance it was apparent the Mongol officer was the stronger fighter: blow after blow fell on Gunag’s sword and he found himself always on the defensive.
At last Khan Bayke stepped back, panting. On the other side of the canal a dozen Xues had found long poles and were threatening to push his two sons deeper into the water. Guang waited, his sword raised to fend off Bayke’s next attack, but it never came; the Mongol turned unexpectedly, desperate to cut a way through to his drowning sons. In that moment, as he placed his foot on the bridge, his back was exposed and Guang darted forward, stabbing Khan Bayke near the base of his spine, finding a gap in the armour, pushing the sword in deep so that blood welled across the blade. Then Guang twisted the sword, gasping and cursing, worrying it back and forth.
Finally, he released the hilt, slippery with blood, and shoved Bayke into the canal, grunting triumphantly; a loud splash followed; for a moment the water frothed, then the armoured man vanished from sight.
Guang hurried over to the jubilant members of the Xue clan, who had finally finished off their enemies.
‘There is another one holding their horses at the entrance to Xue Alley,’ he said. ‘Send a boy with a message from Bayke to lure him here. I shall do the rest. And we must hide these bodies or they will bury our entire families alive – after they have flayed us to the bone.’
But all three Mongol warriors had already sunk to the bottom of the canal. It seemed no further concealment was necessary.
*
Of course she was used to waiting. Who among the ladies had waited so hard as she? Lu Ying sat on her worn divan and listened to sounds of panic drifting through the open windo
w: a woman wailed in a neighbouring courtyard; shouting broke out across the canal in Ping’s Floating Oriole House. She peeped out, expecting Mongol warriors to flood through Water Basin Ward like a swarm of giant rats, but it was only a pair of drunkards, quarrelling to satisfy some petty grievance. Her bamboo curtain fell with a rattle and she sat very still, struggling to compose herself.
Lu Ying rose and paced the room. The ward bell chimed noon. Now Wang Ting-bo would be surrendering the city to the enemy. She could barely believe him capable of treason, yet the proof was everywhere. How General A-ku had promised to preserve his life and noble position, how the city would be spared fire and sword. No one believed that last part, of course, when a hill of corpses rotted across the river in Fouzhou. Soon the Mongols would ride through the streets and it would begin.
Everyone knew they liked to mingle a little pleasure with their grim work. Lu Ying shivered at the thought, hugging her chest.
Perhaps she should join Madam Cao and Dr Shih, who were hiding in one of the back rooms with their babies, waiting for the storm to pass. A little company might lift her spirits. And she would have gone except that something she could not express held her back, maybe even their kindness. Her nerves were too raw and jagged for kindness – Dr Shih’s soothing voice was likely to make her scream. No, it would be best to wait in her room for Guang; surely he would come soon.
Noon shadows and bars of light shifted across wall and floor. How long since the last bell? An hour? Perhaps more.
Time enough for Guang to send word that he was safe, that he had found the means to protect her as he had promised.
That was a foolish thought. How could he preserve her when Swallow Gate was thrown open? No one in the city could call themselves safe, except for Wang Ting-bo and his clan. Oh, they were safe! The Wangs of this world were always safe.
Words sung long ago, it seemed, filled her memory and she hummed softly to sooth her fears:
Chop, chop, we clear the elms
And pile branches on the bank.
He neither sows nor reaps!
Breaking Bamboo Page 47